I'll Have That Drink, Now
by DaDreadedJester
Summary: What if Loki got that drink he asked for, had a few more... and got quite drunk, in the process? Also, what if Thor had to escort an inebriated Loki back to Asgard? XD
1. Chapter 1

•I'll Have That Drink, Now•

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: What if Loki got that drink he asked for, had a few more... and got quite drunk, in the process? Also, what if Thor had to escort an inebriated Loki back to Asgard? XD

* * *

Loki supported his, now, crumbled and disheveled form upon a single, angular elbow, as he dared to face the Avengers' heinous tableau of victory; they glowered and towered over the - once - arrogant God, whom was, now, humbled and worn amidst the debris. He stared upward, eyes of garish green stretched wide and fearful; quite akin to a child.

Oh, dear.

Loki's eyebrows furrowed with, new, anxiety, as he was presented with a, rather, vicious looking arrow-tip, just inches from his pointed nose; which, of course, was kindly provided by an unamused Hawkeye, his former colleague in conquest.

The broken God, scanned the stance of the other Avengers; their expressions all depicted the same disgust and bemusement. They did look happy, at all... despite their infuriating victory. Loki sighed, defeatedly, shifting his position to, properly, meet their collective gaze of rage. He winced, slightly; he was quite certain that that 'oafish monster' had broken a considerable amount of his bones.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at Thor, he was certain his gaze would convey gut-wrenching disappointment, rather than anger. Loki thought it best to avoid the pain of eye contact.

The rest of them just looked smug - particularly, the 'Man of Iron'  
- apart from the 'soldier'. Loki deducted he was attempting to appear triumphant but he, in fact, was... pouting?

Loki stared, incredulously; this man was pouting. Where, in the Nine Realms, did they find these people?

His gaze returned to the 'Man of Iron'; Loki suppressed a shudder, as he watched a shit-eating grin plaster Stark's face. Perhaps, he'd consider accepting his - previous - "gracious offer"... Now, seemed as good a time as any.

Loki rolled his eyes, listlessly, and, uttered, with a slight quirk of his brow:

"If it's all the same to you... I'll have that drink, now."

To the God's utter contempt, Stark's smile stretched wider... Well, at least it wasn't a, 'no'. Loki was absolutely parched... and emotionally deflated; he figured an alcoholic beverage - a strong one, at that - would attend to both, sufficiently.

He, visibly, flinched, as Tony broke the silence. He chuckled, playfully:

"Well, I guess we can give the guy one for the road, right guys?"

The others - initially - offered the raise of quizzical eyebrows but then, merely, grunted in reluctant agreement.

"Okay. Point Break? Get the cuffs. Don't want 'im goin' all 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' on us; do we?"

The 'Fantasia' reference received an amused smirk from Clint and a flinch of confusion from Steve.

Tony gestured - to a highly, forlorn-looking Thor - toward the cuffs. The billionaire had craftily concealed them behind the bar, previously; he figured he'd need them. The cuffs were ornate and heavy... but not as heavy as the heart of the Thunder God. The pouting Steve, turned to him in sympathy, as the blonde god clamped his brother's thin wrists in the cursed bounds.

Loki, still, didn't even glance at him.

Tony - feeling awkward amidst the tension - piped up, jovially:

"So, what's your poison, buddy: Scotch on the Rocks, Lager Tops? Or are you more of a Cosmo-kinda-guy?"

Loki gathered himself, features crinkling in agony, as he rose, slowly, from the debris. Thor offered a large hand to steady him but the God of Mischief, merely, shooed it away, dismissively.

Still, he refused to look at Thor.

"I'll have whichever beverage inebriates me the quickest." Loki replied, dryly; his voice a monotonic droll, as he began to shuffle, lethargically, toward the bar. His newly-applied chains clinked, obnoxiously, with every, leaden step.

"Um... Okay. I'll just mix some stuff up then." Tony stuttered politely, receiving a judgemental glare from Natasha. Her expression of distaste informed him that getting the God of Lies drunk was a very, very bad idea.

Of course, Tony was going to ignore her.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki, flung his glass gracelessly into the sleek, kitchen tiles. The object burst into a thousand glistening shards, littering the floor with jagged glints. The Avengers flinched - simultaneously - at the impact.

Steve darted forward and began to sweep the contents of the shattered glass, tentatively, into his trademark shield. Barton rolled his eyes, sardonically.

The God smiled lazily, as he flung his scrawny arms, outward, dramatically:

"Anoootheeeeeer!" Loki burst into a fit of impish giggles, amused at his own slurred command.

Thor frowned with hurt toward the blatant mockery and Steve - no longer pouting - swore he could hear Natasha's palm slam into her own forehead, behind him.

Tony shifted, uncomfortably - his scathed and scratched suit clinking, quietly. He swallowed, audibly, before attempting to authorise the now-intoxicated God:

"Um... I think you've had enough, buddy."

It was Loki's turn to pout. His bottom lip plump and slack with disappointment:

"C'mon, just one moooore." He groaned and psychically punctuated his sentence, as he, suddenly, flung his head into the smooth marble of the bar top. The entire building shuddered, as if the God had enforced a small earthquake.

The Avengers flinched, again.

Tony sighed, defeatedly and reluctantly retrieved another glass. The Hulk glared - with animalistic rage - as Tony, sheepishly, poured the God another round of the poisonous concoction.

He slid the new drink, cautiously, towards the drunken trickster and took a sharp step backward, waiting in trepadation. Loki's battered head, still, remained compressed into the marble surface. His greased and matted tresses of ebony, fanned outward; small shards of rubble nested themselves amongst the black. Without lifting his leaden head, Loki snaked a slender hand around his drink. Natasha could sense the drunken smirk of satisfaction; she could feel it, concealed amongst the ragged, charcoal locks.

Then Loki lifted his head.

Thor gave a quiet gasp, as he spied the trickle of blood, which stained the God's usually-pristine façade. With a pale hand, still, clasped, protectively, around his drink, Loki wrinkled his pointed nose in comical discomfort. He'd, now, acknowledged the metallic odour of the garish liquid which continued to drip from his nostril, like a crimson tear.

Thor was about to intervene and play nurse, when Loki wiped his bloodied nose, languidly, upon the sleeve of his tarnished jacket. The scarlet stain glistened upon the patch of frayed leather, basking in the warmth of the evening sun.

With re-kindled defiance, Loki snapped his chin outward, haughtily and lifted the glass to his cracked and bloodied lips. He began to drink; consuming his potion, ferociously. He omitted a brief moan, as he gulped greedily, throat springing with every desperate swallow.

"Down in one, down in—"

Clint's jovial chants died, abruptly as Natasha shot him a murderous look. Tony snorted, quietly, as Clint clamped his lips shut and threw an ashamed gaze to his hobnail boots.

However, Loki still preformed his assigned task, as he drained the glass and slammed it downward - this time, upon the counter, much to Tony's relief - with childish pride.

The others gaped at him, in bewildered silence.

His rigid form, suddenly slumped; his aching back crunched, as it slouched with exhaustion. He propped both elbows upon the shining, marble surface and brought his quivering hands to his sickly visage. He, then, buried his deft fingers into eyes; his sockets hollowed and zombified. He groaned with comical despair:

"Oooh, noooooooooo." His words were dragged, parallel to his steps but-thirty-minites-ago. "Thanos is gonna kill meeeee." He, then, flattened his dirtied hands and compressed his gaunt facade into his bloodied palms, muttering incoherently to himself.

The others threw each other uncomfortable glances, amidst the silence; except for Thor, who stared, vacantly, into the abyss bearing a guilt-ridden expression.

Loki, then, began to recite his lament, voice leaden with melancholy:

"All those days, weeks, months..." - he began massage his sunken eyes with his skeletal fingers, compressing his vision into his skull - "Aaaaaall, that monumental torture! It's all... wasted, gone... immaterial!" He spat his words; they tore at his throat, as they dripped with unadulterated venom.

He prised away his still-quivering hands and, finally, exposed his eyes; clouded entities of exhaustion and woe. He looked half dead, like his deeds and experiences had, suddenly, pounced upon him... showing little mercy. Steve and Natasha shared a glance; they silently agreed it wasn't just because of the alcohol.

"And all..." - Loki turned, slowly, on the stool - careful not to lose his balance - glazed eyes burning into his brother's bowed, blonde head - "...because of you." He flung an accusing finger toward the God of Thunder, shuddering with suppressed rage. However, he performed his gesture of judgement with a little too much vigour. Loki, promptly, collapsed, inelegantly, from the stool.

Clint and Tony exchanged a smirk - they couldn't keep it hidden - but the Hulk shattered the silence with his own booming laughter. Steve shot him a look - or, perhaps, another pout - and the beast, quickly, fell quiet.

Loki lay, motionless, for a while; a tangle of lanky limbs and matted hair. He groaned, again; wincing in anguish, as he pushed himself upward:

"You always... always..." - he panted rapidly, breathes heaving with dangerous frequency - "...always ruin... everything. I never... " - he pressed his bloodied fists into the ground, arms shaking violently as he attempted to raise his enervated self from the floor - "...get to have my... my moment." He wretched, dramatically and proceeded to vomit all over the kitchen tiles.

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes in disgust; as if he didn't have enough shit to clean up.


	3. Chapter 3

Things began to... deteriorate, after that.

First of all, the garish green skin of the mighty Hulk began to dilute in colour and the beast proceeded to, gradually, shrink in shape, returning to a more 'human-esque' size. Sensing his anatomy was undergoing a significant shift, Banner fled from the room; appearing completely naked, amongst his follow Avengers, was not an experience he wished to repeat.

Secondly, Tony unleashed his diva-like tendencies and stormed - still suited - from the room. He rambled, voice oozing with sass:

"Look, I'm not a goddamn maid, people. Professor Snape can clean up his own mess. I'm outta here... but meet you guys, later, for Shwarma, OK?"

The others stared, incredulously, as Stark flounced, comically, from the room; with the exception of Loki, who was, now, occupying himself by curling into the foetal position, clutching his stomach, tightly. He groaned, pathetically; the nausea was crippling.

Thor snapped from his revery and dared to approach his heavily inebriated brother. As daintily as his bulky physique would allow him, Thor crouched stealthily, beside his adopted brother; careful not to startle the crumpled God with sudden moments, as if Loki was some form of highly-venomous snake. However, Steve knew Thor saw Loki as more of a fawn or a kitten; some things never change, between siblings.

"Loki?" Thor croaked, tentatively.

Loki's clouded eyes, merely, stared vacantly into the abyss; swirling with sadness and swimming with... fear?

That was when the God of Thunder, finally, comprehended his little brother has a great deal to fear.

"Loki..." - he attempted, once more, as he delicately removed a stray hair of ebony, from the God's feverish countenance. "...it's time to go home, now." He finished, tenderly... but the tranquility was destroyed when Loki's ragged form shot upward, eyes blazing with wild hysteria.

"No, no, no." He shook his head with such determined vigour, Clint thought the guy's sorry head would dislodge from his pale neck. "You— You can't make me, Thor. I..." - he began to crawl from the God in terror , clawing at the ground with dirtied nails - "...I do what I want!" He spat with feeble defiance; Steve noticed the frantic trembling of the God's lower lip.

"I'm not going! I will not be punished! I've had— I've had enough, Thor! I can't... I-I won't..." Loki concluded but all attempts to sound authoritative were futile; he conveyed very little severity: drunk, huddled on the floor, fresh batches of hot tears forming in his eyes.

Thor gazed at him, in horror; guilt leading his heart, as of the weight of Mjölnir resided in his chest.

Assuming the situation was not going to improve, Natasha rolled her eyes and exited the room, dragging with her a rather disappointed-looking Clint; it'd just been getting to the good bit. The red-head muttered a half-hearted excuse about having to call Fury and check the streets. Clint suppressed a bored sigh.

And, then there were three: the Gods and soldier.

Steve, shifted uncomfortably and began to drown in sweltering perspiration. The growing tension was becoming increasingly ominous and Steve felt compelled to remain in the room, incase a fight broke out between the brothers. Yet, he felt very conscious toward the fact that he was invading their privacy; eavesdropping on intimate family issues.

It was insanely awkward and, worst-still, Steve hadn't a clue what was going to happen next.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve remained statuesque, frozen amongst the ice within the atmosphere. His eyes darted to Thor, then to Loki, then back to Thor; as if observing a silent tennis match of tension.

Loki was still hunched over, lanky arms wrapped around his knobbly knees in a tight - almost suffocating - embrace. He rocked back and forth, slightly and muttered incoherently to himself; his brow furrowed and eyes clouded, as he immersed himself within his reveries. The God made it a priority not to make his thoughts audible to those around him; Loki was a rigid, private person... except, when he was drunk, of course. The other two gazed at him, wondering just what exactly plagued that maze of a mind.

Steve decided he didn't really want to know.

However, Thor was constantly desperate to know, to understand. The Thunder God was always resilient, determined, consistent in his attempts to find his brother, again. The Captain - being a soldier - could understand that; a soldier must fight, even if the said 'fight' was a losing fight. However, it was worth it if you were fighting for the right cause, wasn't it?

Loki looked to Thor, to Steve and back to Thor; deducting their stance and scrutinising their expressions, as if he could read their minds akin to one of his beloved books. He'd always, secretly, admired the trait of persistency that Thor - and, now, he discovered, the Captain - possessed. Loki envied that; he who seemed to lack that form of... conviction.

Loki flinched at the memory; the final jibe from the mortal:

"You lack conviction."

What seemed to kindle Loki's hatred of the man the most was the fact he had been right. It was the truth and the truth had a horrible habit of provoking Loki. That's why he killed the mortal; it was easier to seek refuge within lies and fabrication.

As much as he convinced himself he despised Thor, his father, the Avengers, Loki's worst enemies were truth, honesty and memories.

Truth: the betrayal of those he thought his kin, us discovery that he was nothing more than a runt abandoned by a monster, to realise he was just a pawn that was never meant to rule.

Honesty: the realisation that his brother still loved him - despite all he'd done - and threatened to suck him into the that disastrous cult he'd once deemed "family", the final words of his 'father' causing his decent into the void, to be told he was unworthy... no matter how hard he tried.

Memories: those hideous parasites that took pleasure in awakening what could never be attained, what had even promised: the childish hope of becoming a king of wisdom, the loving arms of his mother, the blissful innocence of childhood days with Thor.

A dark smirk creeped upon Loki's lips: a God that could not even face something as simple as nostalgia, as... sentiment.

He gave a curt and bitter laugh: it was all so pathetic.

The two blondes snapped their heads toward him, gaze locked and curious. Loki, merely, stared into the abyss, eyes deceased and hopeless:

"What... chance is there for me?"

The God spat the words into the surrounding debris, suppressing a batch of bitter laughter. Unsettled by his brother's words, Thor then decided to portray that classic resilience or - as thought by Loki - nativity.

"Loki, there is always hope—"

"Hope?" Loki snapped, indignantly. He became forlorn once more, "...hope is the cruelest of lies, Thor."

Steve watched hurt twist into the Thunder God's features but, then, saw how the God clenched his fists, determined not believe the callous words of the silver-tongue. He watched Thor approach his brother - cautiously, of course - and crouch his broad frame to Loki's level.

Thor truly believed there was hope for the God of Lies.

Steve thought it admirable. I mean,  
Loki was crazy, insane, psychotic; it was almost impressive Thor could spy a broken child beneath it all.

Steve then realised, such a thing wasn't surprising - or impressive - at all; it was just brothers.

"Brother..." Thor placed a large hand upon his brother's slight shoulder. "There is still hope for redemption within you, yet." His words were tender, solemn; brilliant, blue eyes stared into twins of poisonous green and they blazed with sincerity; no hint of a lie.

This only angered Loki, further.

It made sense - to Loki, at least - that he be branded the God of Lies; for the truth always hurt too much to hear.

"Redemption?" Loki curled his upper lip into a contemptuous sneer. He spat the word, as if it be a curse; well, perhaps it was... or, rather, a promise he could not keep.

Redemption: it was just another lie.

Loki gave a hollow laugh - Steve flinched at the sound - it seemed to vocalise the God's emptiness, as if his heart was just a vacant space. He smirked, eying the Thunder God with bitter amusement:

"You are a fool, a fool with a ridiculous amount of... optimism..." - his sneering mask dropped to reveal a glimmer of... something - "...yet, another attribute I envy you of... brother." He visibly flinched toward his last word but a minute smile played amongst his lips.

A pregnant silence followed: Steve was both apprehensive and captivated, Thor - hand still on his brother's shoulder - stared into Loki with a feeling of naive hope and Loki, himself, bore an expression of exhaustion.

The silence then passed, as Loki shifted his skeletal form and - with a groan of pain - attempted to stand. He swayed, violently; a leaden sensation creeping into his head, reminding him much he'd drank. Thor - again - offered a hand to steady him and, this time, the trickster allowed it. Steve could not combat a smile; to see moments of such rarity between the brothers was, actually, very heartwarming.

Then he remembered Loki fancied himself as a genocidal dictator. Still, we all have flaws, right?

The Captain's eyes returned to the trickster. Loki immersed deft fingers within his charcoal mass of hair - massaging his aching scalp - and gave a saddened sigh.

"My last taste of the air of outsiders", the slight God mused, whimsically. "Then..." - he gave a sardonic chuckle, however, it was more playful, than before - "...eternal incarceration."

A short silence followed, allowing Loki's words to percolate.

"Well..." - a mischievous smile dancing upon the pale, pink lips of the trickster - "...might as well make the most of it. Captain?"

Steve eyed him suspiciously, skeptical of the God's "happy" facade:

"What?"

"Be a darling and pour us a scotch?"

The God winked, cheekily, as he began to shuffle in return to his initial perch at the bar. He continued, voice low and - to the shock of both Thor and Steve - slightly... seductive:

"This is, in fact, my final day of... freedom..." - he scorned his own poor word choice - "...and I intend to enjoy it."

He leaned forward - from his reclaimed bar stool - and trapped the Captain within his cold and steely stare: it was murderous. He spoke with a tone that was black and ominous:

"Listen, mortal: I wish to heavily inebriate myself into the abyss, I wish to drown my sorrows until I cannot walk, speak or even breathe and I wish you and my dear brother to only this one last luxury,  
before I'm left to rot in a rancid dungeon. I am not overly fond of the humiliation Asgard holds for me; therefore, I wish to... alter my perceptions via various alcoholic beverages, in order to... lighten the ordeal. That must happen, Captain. That is an order and you are a loyal soldier; are you not?"

He pushed the abandoned glass towards a horrified-looking Steve and snapped into a mask of elegant - yet, unsettling - politeness:

"Now... I'll have another drink, if you don't mind."


	5. Chapter 5

Now, Tony Stark is the kinda guy who's seen some shit. At this point, he'd assisted in defeating an intergalactic army, destroyed a colossal missile and fallen through the bleak outer-space... all less than four hours ago; basically, things couldn't get any weirder than they already had, right?

If only he knew what awaited him next.

After flouncing dramatically from the room - in a hissy fit towards Loki's regurgitation - Tony had changed from his suit; he'd promptly had Dummy dispose of it, as it was almost completely dilapidated.

Tending to his wounds - which were frighteningly numerous - Tony was grateful he could flinch and curse in solitude. It was alright for Thor and Steve; genetically modified and could take on apocalyptic conditions without gaining even a scratch. Plus, there was Banner; his skin was as thick as a car door, when in Hulk-form.

Anyway, after slipping into something more casual - sporting a rather vibrant Led Zeppelin t-shirt - Tony decided he better rejoin the group. Hopefully, Loki had downed his last drink and was now gagged rather than gagging.

A hopeless ideal, if there ever was one.

When Tony finally rejoined the throng, he observed - whilst garnished with a gaze of utter horror - the following scenario:

First of all, to Tony's undeniable distress... the drinks cabinet - his personal Pandora's Box - was open. Tony gaped in disbelief; his most treasured sanctuary was ajar, this was beyond violation. His widened eyes, then, began to crinkle into a wince of pain, as he processed it was almost completely empty.

A nauseating sensation corroded his insides: one could only describe it as grief.

Secondly, the room was strewn with pillows; carelessly scattered and tattered like a collection of plush corpses. Tony noted - with incandescent fury - Loki's puke still hadn't been attended to.

Of course, the Tony's final deduction of the scene before him was - by far - the worst... or perhaps the best.

"What the Hell is going on, here?"

He could plainly see "what the Hell was going on"... however, he couldn't help but feel his vision was deceiving him.

The Three Musketeers all sat upon the stretching sheen of the plush leather couch. In other circumstances, Tony would've found the surreal tableau hilarious... but - today - he was Fifty Shades of Pissed Off.

The two blondes - the Super Soldier and the Thunder God - clung to either end of the couch, their deft fingers clawing for escape from their very heavily inebriated captor. They sat motionless in excruciating discomfort, posture rigid and tense.

Then there was Loki...

After explaining (in a melodic slur) to a fascinated Steve - the soldier couldn't tame his curiosity - the concept of sorcery and it's intricate properties, Loki now held his hostages in a lazy - yet frighteningly affective - grasp; lanky arms swung around the pair's broad shoulders, a drugged smirk smeared all over his elven features. Naturally, his posture was more relaxed than that of his peers; lithe form crinkled and slouched, sunken amidst the consuming cushions. He was gazing at the ceiling, dreamily: the way one in love might look at the stars.

"...and thaaat's how animal embodiment works. Sorcery has many adaptations and uses, you see. I can use it to sitroove my improvation, Captain."

Thor stifled a smirk, despite himself; seeing/hearing Loki drunk was an unbelievable rarity and he couldn't help but enjoy the sight of it. However, Steve - being Steve - merely assisted with:

"You mean... 'improve your situation', right?"

"That's what I saaaaaid!" Loki drawled in exasperation: humans were really beginning to surpass Thor on the Stupidity Scale. He sighed wearily and continued:

"Yes. It can assist me in being... Oh, what is that word? It's—"

"Nice?" The sober trio supplied, simultaneously.

"Yes! I could do that! Y'see, I'll make mother a..." - he hiccuped loudly - "...pretty, pretty garden, Odin a new eye... thing..." He twiddled his slender fingers in search of the right word; his hand flopped back on Steve's shoulder, as he failed to find it. He lolled his leaden head in Thor's direction, "...and I'll give yooooou..." - he started to snicker impishly - "...lessons in dining eti-ketti-quette! Sleipnir has more table manners than you, Thooor!" He burst into a blossom of juvenile giggles.

It was eerie amongst the silence. Steve would've laughed along but did not wish to disrespect Thor or give Tony further reason to go ape-shit at him.

Loki's laughter ceased abruptly, as an expression of sadness smacked his countenance:

"And then... they'll like me, again... Won't they? Everything'll be... the same... but I don't want the same. I want better... but I'm not better... I'm gone..."

Thor visibly flinched toward his brother's drunken muse, combatting bubbling tears. Loki appeared thoughtful for a moment and then swivelled his head lazily toward Steve:

"Just how gone do you s'pose—" - he gave a girlish hiccup - "—d'you s'pose I am, Captain? After all, I appreciate your counsel."

A smile stretched languidly up to his protruding cheekbones, his heavy-lidded eyes fluttered in question. All Steve could do was raise his eyebrows and stare at the God: this nice Loki was almost as unnerving as the nasty one.

However, as he studied Thor - the Golden God bearing his saddened smile of nostalgia - this "nice" Loki was actually just... Loki... in a way. Not Loki the God of Mischief... but Loki, Thor's little brother. 'This is how he used to be', Steve pondered. 'Just a smart, cocky kid that's into magic. I mean, I think he wanted to preach that information to somebody since forev—'

"Y'know, Captain Rodney—" Loki began with a smirk.

"Rodgers." Steve corrected, curtly.

"Y'know, Captain Roberts..." Loki continued absentmindedly, "...you're actually not as insuff'ble as I originally—"

"Wanna know how far you've gone? Far enough."

The spark faded from Loki's tired eyes as they rolled into the gaze of an incandescent Tony Stark. Loki shifted uncomfortably towards Thor:

"Thoooor, Sif is bullying me, again."

Steve and Tony blinked in confusion whereas Thor visibly tensed, as his brow furrowed with hurt.

Tony decided to ignore it for he was getting quite fed up with this bullshit:

"Look, enough of your antics, Reindeer Games. Quit reeking havoc—"

"I didn't meeeeean tooooo!" Loki wailed suddenly, clinging to Thor's tarnished cape with slender fingers. "Thor, tell her I didn't mean to. It was just a bit of fun... just a—" - another hiccup - "...just a harmless bit of mischei—"

"What? You tried to take over Manhattan, for God's sake!"

"I do not think that is what he speaks of, Stark." Tony fell silent as Thor finally spoke; his voice lacking its usual jovial strength, as he kept his gaze fixated on Loki:

"I believe he is reliving a childhood memory."

"Ugh, well that's just perfect." Tony muttered sarcastically, as Loki began to mutter something about Odin banning him from his books, again. Thor - of course - submitted to comforting him. Tony then decided to turn his attention to Steve:

"For Christ's sake, Steve; you had one job—"

"What? Babysit a couple of Norse deities?"

Tony narrowed his eyes; however, the malicious twin sparks of confrontation were still visible beneath creased lids of suspicion:

"Don't get sassy with me, Capsicle. You know who you're dealing with, right?"

The Captain - obviously assuming Stark was referring to himself - was about to interject with a snide jibe regarding the man's tumour of an ego; however, Tony cut him off with harsh spiel of shouting:

"We're dealing with Loki! Loki; heard of 'im? Tried to take over the world: army, aliens, war-stuff, Blue Cube of Bullshit? Ring any bells? The goth kid with NPD?"

The swift change in volume - and the mention of his name - caused Loki to widen his glazed eyes of jade: he depicted the very definition of 'rabbit in the headlights.' He began to whimper quietly, as he curled into the golden God. Thor attempted to ignore him, failed dismally and surrendered to carding callous fingers through Loki's now-disheveled hair, in a manner akin to how one might pet a small, black cat.

Loki's slur of protest was muffled - he'd practically plastered his face into Thor's shining armour - but it was something along the lines of, "Father's angry with me, isn't he?"

It took a moment for both Tony and Steve to leap from their trance - they'd never thought of Loki as a 'cuddler' - but the argument was quickly resumed:

"Well, nice work, American Idol. Good to know your bar-tending skills were exercised - on a complete psycho - using my stock."

"You were the one that offered him the damn drink to start with, Stark."

"Oh, you wanna play Blame Games, Sir Pout-a-lot? I'll—"

"CAN WE ALL JUST — PLEASE — STOP FIGHTING?!"

The cry of tearful dismay was followed by a lingering silence, filled only with the guilt of the billionaire and the soldier. Loki now stood upright - swaying slightly, given his state - with dirtied hands curled into fists and scrawny frame adopting the  
stance of an angered child. His eyes iridescent with tears, he began to speak... with a hint of suppressed venom:

"It's like listening to Thor and Odin, all over again: incessant, maddening and horrid. I despise it..."

He then surveyed the scene properly and a flicker of understanding creeped into his expression:

"However, this time it differs, somewhat."

"How so?" Steve asked, tentatively. Tony shot him a look but said nothing; he figured he'd said enough, anyhow.

Loki gave a weak smile, it appeared slightly reminiscent and whimsical:

"Because I actually got a word in, this time."

The words of many memories drifted amongst the silence, the phrase percolated amongst the cru-creases of the minds of the present Avengers. You know you had a problem child on your hands when he took a stab at global conquest just to make himself heard.

Tony Stark would never admit he ever felt the feeling of sympathy for anyone; let alone Loki. However, as he watched the withered God sigh, studying the clunky combines around his delicate wrists, looking as if he'd give Death a high-five if he bothered to turn up... didn't change the fact that Tony Stark - Iron Man - actually felt sympathy.

However a question arose within in:

"Hey, why are my pillows everywhere."

"I threw them..." Loki answered cooly, then with a mischievous smirk, "...primarily toward Thor's head. I was having one of my... episodes." The smirk bloomed into a gleaming smile of pride:

"Despite my significant inebriation... I didn't miss once."

Tony, Steve and even Thor allowed themselves a laugh, Loki - still tottering in imbalance - inflated his chest and lifted his pointed chin. He consumed the attention as desperately as his twenty-three scotches, three white wines, and sixteen vodka shots.

He liked this response; the laughter. He figured he'd start throwing pillows at Thor more often...

Then he remembered he had a trial to go to...


	6. Chapter 6

As the violent swirl of rainbow flashed and flared around the brothers like a blazing supernova, Thor fought with determined gusto to ignore the knife of dread twist within his gut. He'd not been looking forward to escorting his brother back to Asgard, anyway... but now Loki was drunk.

He was very, very drunk, indeed.

The golden orb of the observatory began to seep into his sight, the blur of his vision morphing into more-focused opulent swirls. He looked to Loki. Despite the fact that the rapid blast of movement - of the Bifrost -had now faded - and both brothers were now stationary - Loki's countenance bore the definition of 'motion sickness.' His alabaster facade had contorted into a feverish shade of green, as he lurched his thin frame forward.

"Welcome home, Thor."

Thor's head snapped from his brother to the rich voice of wisdom that gave him its greeting. Heimdall stood - posture rigid and bold - a gleaming guardian of the Æsir. He gave the thunderer a warm smile, eyes of fire flickering with silent glee of the Prince's return.

Then he looked at the Prince's brother.

"So, the great Liesmith has failed in his endeavours. My condolences, Loki."

Loki threw him a brief hiss as he clutched his stomach; a feeble attempt to nurse the nausea. He suppressed a shudder as he spied a hideous smirk creep across Heimdall's condescending countenance.

"Always a pleasure, gatekeeper." Loki spat, bitterly. "Nice to know your talents for prying into people's lives are still as heightened as ever." His attempt to remain eloquent descended into a slur. "Do they even pay you for this? 'Cause I think—"

Suddenly, the God of Mischief was reduced to crawling around on all-fours and vomiting violently - for the second time that evening - upon the golden grounds. Good; Asgard should be grateful to have even the glory of his bile spewed upon it.

Heimdall merely raised his eyebrows, glanced at Thor, to the crippled Loki, and then back to Thor. Thor avoided eye contact, appearing sheepish and embarrassed; well, it was... embarrassing.

"And the alleged silver-tongue was sluiced with ale this night, I believe?"

Heimdall's smug expression informed the brothers that the respected gatekeeper already knew the answer to his own question.

Well, of course he did.

"There's nothing..." - a hiccup escaped the young God - "...there's nothing 'alleged' about it!" Loki snapped, haughtily as he forced his leaden limbs to co-operate. He finally managed to stand - groaning pathetically - and now swayed as if caught on a breeze. "And it was scotch, actually. It was not ale. I despise ale; so, of course, its all the Æsir ever drink. Your skills are slipping, dear Heimdall."

Then - as if 'on que' - Loki's scuffed boot slipped within his vomit and his already-battered back smacked the floor with an audible crunch. Thor winced at the sight. That was definitely going to hurt in the morning.

"Well, that added injury to insult." Loki muttered, bringing a hand to his head as his face crinkled with pain. He then let slip a giggle and brought himself upward, once more.

After this night, Loki would've dared anyone to say he wasn't resilient. Tolerating Thor's stupidity was pain enough but now he'd failed to subjugate the Earth, been thrown around like a rag-doll, gotten mad-drunk, had a few trips and tantrums, gotten mad-drunk for a second time, and had now just about broken his own back.

"What am I, eh, Thor?" The drunken prince mused as he leaned into the thunderer's bulky form for support. "The God of Lies... or Rotten Luck?" He gave a sarcastic laugh and gave Heimdall a mock salute. "Until next time, eavesdropper... which will be when I get out of this insufferable realm. I think I need a holiday."

"Oh, I doubt you'll be heading anywhere for a while, trickster." Heimdall muttered softly. The jibe went unheard by Loki, who'd began to waver toward the observatory exit, humming to himself as he went.

Thor turned to his friend with an expression of bashfulness. "Sorry about that. I can assist you in... cleaning up if you—"

"I think it best that you escort him back to the palace. Also, you might want to stop Loki from falling off the bridge."

"Yes, thank you— Wait, what?"

Thor's head snapped toward his brother, his face frozen in panic. Loki was teetering dangerously close to the edge of the stretch of rainbow. To Thor's horror, he leaned forward all-the-more as he flung out a lanky arm, pointing and shouting something about mermaids.

"Loki! Loki! Get away from there!"

Thor darted towards his brother only to catch him just in time, just before he'd fallen into the abyss... again. Thor noticed a recurring theme.

The Thunder God then began to guide his estranged, now-giggling brother across the rainbow ribbon which stretched ahead. Thor internally groaned toward how endless it looked. This was going to be a long night.

As Heimdall bid them good luck - with a throaty chuckle - the two tottering princes headed toward the towering palace.


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hey, guys! Just a quick thank you for all the favourites, follows and reviews so far! I really appreciate it! Also, apologies the last chapter was so shirt but here's this one... and there should be more to come afterwards, too!

Enjoy, m'dears!

* * *

To Thor's unconcealed dismay, Loki began to sing - juggling with words on the spot - into the star-studded night. His voice a tuneless drawl as he provided a slurred soundtrack to their trail-some trek:

"Here comes Thor an the Tricksteeeeeeeeeer,  
Here comes the Trickster and Thoooooooooor,  
One is a brute, the other has brains,  
Not sure which one I pity moooooooooore!"

Thor concluded he undoubtedly pitied 'the brute' a great deal more, at this precise moment in time. However Loki - of course - pitied himself for being forced into the company of a dense and tedious Thor. Why was he acting so serious, anyhow?

"Cheer up, Thor!" Loki chided as he flung an arm around the golden God's shoulders. "You always said I should drink more, anyhow."

"Yes, but I meant with me." Thor grumbled, practically dragging Loki across the never-ending bridge. "Not when you have a trial to go to."

"And I thought I was the jealous one!" Loki laughed, brazenly. He then smirked as he brought his face closer to Thor's, his manner more confidential:

"Want in on the fun, Thunderer?"

"Loki, what—"

The smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile as Loki produced a bottle of expensive-looking wine concealed beneath his leather mantel. He looked so, childishly pleased with himself.

"Want some?"

Thor eyed the bottle with suspicion. Of course he wanted some but drinking at this moment was an awful and idea and the wine didn't even belong to them:

"Loki, that belongs to the Man of Iron."

Loki merely rolled his glassy eyes:

"I knooooow thaaaaaaat!" He busied himself with twisting off the bottle-cap with shaking fingers. "He won't miss it, though. He's too busy getting lost in his own stuuupid reflection to—"

"Sounds like someone I know." Thor injected quietly with a smirk.

Loki almost spluttered upon the wine of which he was now greedily consuming. His face contorted with comical outrage:

"I am not vain!"

"Yes, you are, brother! I recall you'd spend hours upon hours arranging that womanly hair of yours!"

Thor snatched the bottle from Loki... only to take a hearty swig for himself.

"It's not womanly! It's not and neither is my sorcery!" Loki's pitch climbed upward - in a very 'womanly' way - as he found it increasingly difficult to hide his offence.

"Besides..." - he continued, snatching the bottle back into his own hungry hands - "...you're one to talk of vanity! The Great Thoooor! Wonderful Thoooor! Mighty Thoooor! Always, always, always Thooor!" He sneered with contempt as he attempted to drain the bottle.

Thor raised a large hand and lowered the bottle from his brother's lips, fixing him with a stern stare. "You're just as capable of gaining all those titles for yourself, my brother."

"I knoooow." Loki sighed, examining the label plastered across the bottle's side. "The problem is... is that nobody else thinks so." Then he gave a small shrug:

"Still, no one believes the liar, do they?"

A pregnant silence ensued: Loki continued to shuffle and appear sad, and Thor watched him shuffle and appear sad. Thor racked his brains for something - anything - to say. Perhaps he should—

"Do you remember the rumour?" Loki asked suddenly, the glimmer of a memory dancing in his eyes.

Thor blinked owlishly. Then he gave a wry smile:

"Which one? There were quite a few regarding you, Loki."

Loki froze, flinching his elven features in hurt. His mouth agog with horror as the pain of realisation collided with him. He looked like a kid who'd just been told Santa wasn't real.

"Really?" His eyes wide and innocent, voice pathetic and child-like. "Even in boyhood?"

Panic throbbed within Thor's ears as he spied the bubbling of tears. The Thunderer winced as he verbally clawed his way from the grave he'd dug himself:

"Oh, no! No, Loki. Brother, I merely jest! There were no such rumours apart from the one of which you speak."

Loki stared at him.

The God of Lies - even when drunk - knew when he was being lied to. However, he decided to keep his mouth shut this time; besides, he almost appreciated Thor's concern to spare his feelings. This time Loki decided to do what he did best and lied right back:

"Oh, of course. How silly of me."

Thor - naturally - bought every word and breathed a sigh of relief, under the impression he'd successfully tricked the trickster. Loki could've cried at the Thunder God's naïvety.

He then sought to rejuvenate the conversation:

"So, do you remember, Thor?"

"Remember what?"

Loki omitted an exasperated sigh but failed to conceal to a chuckle:

"The rumour, you oaf!"

"Oh, right!" Thor's burst of understanding then sank into a state contemplation. A smile of remembrance played with his lips as he concluded with:

"Was that the rumour that involved you having relations with a horse?"

Loki giggled, impishly. "That it was! Oh, that was hilarious!" He gasped as more sparks of childhood awoke within him. "I remember Sif could not look me in the eye for months!" The trickster's melodic laughter danced with the stars of the night's sky.

Thor laughed in tandem; a rich and joyous sound. "Yes! I remember, now!" His own memory sprung awake, rekindled like a blazing fire of excitement:

"I also recall - when I made to accompany you to the stables, one morning - Volstagg insisted I give you privacy! His face was as red as the wine we drink now!"

"Really?" Loki gasped incredulously. "That's— Brother, that's brilliant!"

The two doubled over in fits of glorious laughter, tears of hilarity rolling down their gleeful faces. When they finally composed themselves - more or less - Thor eyed the still-laughing Loki with sudden curiosity.

"Loki... is it true you composed that rumour yourself?"

A smile of pride smeared itself all over the visage of the drunken God; it was devilish, mischievous... but also quite endearing.

"Of course, I did."

"Loki!" Thor scolded, playfully. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Fresh, gentle giggles escaped the stretching smile of the porcelain prince:

"Because it is amazing what people will believe, Thor."

A stony silence occurred as hilarity faded but awkwardness increased. Thor - the question burning within him - promptly broke the silence, for he piped up tentatively:

"It is not... true... Is it, brother?"

Loki staggered slightly, snorting as he offered Thor a malicious smile:

"That would be telling, my dear brother."

"Oh, Loki!" Thor scolded with faux-disgust but with a hint of genuine concern. Surely Loki couldn't really have had... relations with a—

"What?" Loki returned, indignantly. "Lies are no fun when they are known to be lies, Thor. I'd prefer to keep you guessing." The raven-haired prince stifled a smirk as he gulped another swig of wine. Loki then titled the bottle politely in Thor's direction:

"Care for more?"

Thor blinked in surprise. He reached for the bottle - with slight caution - but nodded in gratitude:

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Another silence drifted between but it was much more pleasant and peaceful than those prior. The only exchange shared amongst the brother's was the polite passing of the wine and a small smile now-and-then. They strode - well, Thor "strode" and Loki stumbled - side by side as they neared the House of Odin; the grandiose palace omitted a dim and gentle shimmer of gold - its lighting far less garish than usual, amongst the dusk - as the tips of its towers basked across the bleak gauze of night's sky. The two princes gazed at the tableau of opulence; glanced upon the same sight through very different eyes.

"It looks like a rising sun." Thor mused, pleasantly; regarding the halls of home with a warm smile.

Loki sighed, eyes clouded with words he would not utter:

"I rather think it be a setting sun."

The silence resumed, allowing Loki's words to percolate. The two brothers carried onward: one of the dawn and the other of dusk.

Suddenly, Loki snorted. A lazy smirk plastered his angular features as he leaned inward and offered Thor a sharp nudge of his elbow:

"I've got another song."

Thor sighed but it soon filtered into a gentle laughter. He rolled his brilliant eyes of blue:

"Go on, then."

Loki all-but-squealed with delight but soon composed himself with an obnoxious clear of the throat. He then held his head high - pointed chin stuck outward - as the inebriated prince began to serenade the kingdom of Asgard - most likely disturbing its slumber - with his song-like slur of obscenity:

"Darling, I'm on my kneeeeeeeeees..."

Loki dropped to his knees dramatically, sloshing wine carelessly as he did so. Thor shook his head of gold with a low chuckle.

"Darling, I'm all out of luuuuuuuuuuck..."

The pair of princes shared a knowing glance: 'God of Rotten Luck'.

"When life is somewhat a teeeeeeaaaaaase..."

Loki sprang upward who new exuberance - losing his balance - as he flung a boneless arm around Thor's broad shoulders. The scarlet droplets of wine rained upon them as they near the Asgardian palace.

Loki then threw his brother a devilish wink, the aura of his scrawny form pulsing with mischief... but also content. He brought his impish features closer to Thor's and concluded with:

"Just go give a horse a good fuuuuu—"

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I'll let you figure out how that one ended yourselves. ;D So, yeah, drunk banter and Norse Mythology references! Did Loki shag a horse? Did he not? I prefer to keep you guessing! :P

Hope to write more soon!

That's all folks!


	8. Chapter 8

As dawn started to creep across the horizon - the first rays of tentative sunlight blooming amongst the golden realm - Asgard awoke to face another day. Behind closed doors of commoners and royals alike, the Asgardians were unified via callous whisperings and hungry gossip. All peoples remained on tenterhooks regarding the sordid fate of the nation's trickster.

Unfortunately, the nation's trickster had not sobered up, yet.

Thor yanked upon Loki's lanky arms relentlessly, dragging his leaden from ever nearer to the opulent razors of gold. They pierced the cerulean sky with all the pride of the Æsir. Thor - himself - felt his heart warm at the sight, however his return to Asgard was somewhat tainted. The burden that lay within his heart was now within his hands; his brother...

...who was half asleep.

"Thoooooooor..." Loki groaned apathetically, his feet skidding across the ground as if his boots were tonne-weights. His head lolled akin to that of a rag doll: limp, lifeless, and leaden. His matted tendrils of ebony curtained his gaunt visage, it appeared zombified and slightly sickly.

Thor tried to ignore him.

"Thooooooooooor!" Loki protested at a greater volume. He grabbed at the thunderer's wrist and pulled at it like a persistent child, attempting to pull Thor to a standstill. Given Thor's build and Loki's condition, such an act was futile.

However, it got Thor's attention.

"What is it, Loki?"

"I'm so tired." His breaths were wheezy and lamented as he stumbled violently, struggling to keep his leaden eye-lids open. "Please... Please, may we sit down or... something—"

"No, Loki." The words were a callous rush, a verbal stab of bitterness... but Thor couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

Silence.

Loki eyed him, his glassy eyes conveying weakened anger:

"You sound just like him..." - he dropped his voice to that of a gruff growl of imitation - "'No, Loki.'" He gave a small chuckle but his face wore a grimace:

"Last time someone said that... Well, things didn't go very well—"

"Stop it, Loki."

"Stop what?"

The pair froze for a moment as their gazes locked: Loki's that of innocent curiosity and Thor's of hurt and discomfort.

'Stop what?'

Thor had a whole dissertation-worth of answers to that little gem: stop pushing those you love away, stop this listlessness and abandonment of hope, stop this poisonous pretending and spinning more and more lies around you...

...until the lie becomes the truth: until you are never my brother as you were, until you really are just the irredeemable trickster, or the monster you always deemed yourself to be.

Of course, the Thunder God said none of this and remained silent. Nothing could change Loki's fate: sentenced to death or eternal incarceration. Either way, Thor knew the boy he'd branded 'brother' was gone forever. He gazed upon his faux-sibling in such a mournful manner that Loki actually tried to console him:

"Oh, don't look so down-trodden, Thor..." - he gave the one of Thor's broad shoulders a lazy pat of comfort - "...I mean, at least now no one's going to turn your ale to serpents or make fun of your helmet or..." - he swallowed audibly, trying to control the tremor in his voice - "...badger you with silly advice—"

"It was always good advice."

Loki gave a weakened smile. Something bright and diamond-esque swirled within his eyes that was much more than a mere trick of the light. The trickster sighed and slackened his gait, still dense and leaden with drink. He looked exhausted. After a brief silence, he turned to Thor to ask tentatively:

"Would you care for my advice, now?"

It occurred to Thor - at that very moment - that Loki had been right: the God of Thunder truly did "call upon such lost creatures to defend him". He was going to ask Loki for advice... and actually listen to it, this time. He nodded to the raven-haired God.

"Do not mourn me, brother."

"What?"

Loki sighed with playful impatience, his expression adorned with something similar to inebriated sympathy:

"I said, do not mourn me. You have already done so: you mourned when I fell from the Bifrost. You mourned your brother, for it was your brother that fell. Do not mourn me, now; do not mourn the monster. It will gain you nothing."

Thor appeared stunned. What does one say to that?

Suddenly, an impish grin spread across Loki's face:

"Also, kindly adjust the tragic epidemic of your facial hair. It looks ridiculous. You must rid your countenance of the ferocious beast, Thor! Do so for Asgard's sake— OW!"

The trickster's jibe was cut off as Thor drove a hearty punch into Loki's arm. The Thunder God laughed as the now-pouting Loki rubbed his abused upper-arm; yet another bruise to add to the ever-growing collection. He shot Thor a dark look but - due to his drunken state - could not conceal his smirk.

Before Thor knew it, a sharp pain flared through his nose; it snaked upward into his brain, leaving him rather disorientated. When his vision finally corrected himself, he realised that Loki had flicked him  
viciously on the nose.

Loki inspected his deft fingers and the sparkle in his eye seemed to congratulate them upon their assault. He hummed, obviously pleased with himself:

"First, the ruthless catapulting of cushions and now a cunning strike to the nose of the Golden God. It appears alcoholic substances have very little affect upon my... tactful aim."

"Or your tenacity to add insult to injury." Thor muttered bitterly, rubbing his upset nose with callous fingers.

Loki gave a fond laugh but then fell quiet. His sorrowful voice then sounded barely above a whisper:

"Or upon the pain of realisation that I originally sought to be rid of."

Thor turned to his brother to question him but found that Loki's gaze was fixated straight ahead. Thor followed it to find the grandiose, ornate doors to the palace staring back at them. They stood set in stone, proud and gold.

They proved Halls of Home for one and the Gates of Hell for the other...

...yet both dreaded what lay beyond them just as much as each other.

"Well, here goes nothing." Loki chimed with flippancy but couldn't hide the wince within his features.

"I presume this is... farewell, brother."

The pair shared a meaningful glance: a glance of sorrow, apology, regret, pain, loss. All those feelings repressed beneath the skin seemed to seep into the silence between them.

"You could consider it the grand finale."

Thor found the eyes of his drunken held twin glints of child-like mischief. Thor recalled feeling dread when catching such an expression during their childhood... but now it was just endearing.

"The last trick of the trickster." Loki chuckled to the doors. Thor shot his brother a glance. Loki was up to something, up to his old tricks, the old tricks of their boyhood: sniggers in the halls and the faint pattering of guilty feet.

"Would you honour me this last dance of mischief, Thor?"

Loki's wheels were turning... and Thor didn't want to do a thing to cease them.

"Who am I to stop you?"

The question was clearly rhetorical, yet Loki tilted his head slightly in analysis of it. His reply was all the 'farewell' Thor could have wished for.

"You are my brother..." - then, as if realising his sentimentality - "...my, I've drank a lot, haven't I?"

Thor omitted a soft snort of agreement. He eyed Loki skeptically:

"I assume you are going to keep me in the dark regarding your plans to reek havoc upon your own trial?"

Loki chuckled, low and warm with cunning:

"As I told you before, brother... I'd prefer to keep you guessing."

Thor submitted himself to rapid internal guessing and Loki sighed in reminiscence. The brothers approached the doors - side by side - and prepared for the sordid fate of Loki Laufeyson. Of course, they equally prepared themselves for the final charade of the accused: a last prank of inebriated nostalgia, for 'sentiment's' sake...

...for old time's sake.


End file.
